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“Why d’you do it?”
Her voice is hard, the words strained as if they’re a dam holding back a tidal wave of emotions. Emotions that are just as tied in knots and as confused as he is inside.
He doesn’t look at her. Can’t. Kicks at the rocks at his feet instead.
He stands away from the settlement, their home, her home, with nothing but the barren wasteland of Earth and a life of self-inflicted solitude waiting for him on the horizon.
It feels like he’s been here before.
He doesn’t relish the prospect any more than he did the last time.
“Why d’you sell us out, Murphy?” she pushes.
And this time the anger seeps through a crack in the wall, and it won’t be long before the concrete crumbles, and he’s washed away with the tide.
“Survival. Why d’you think? I did what I had to.”
He can see her shake her head from the corner of his eye.
“I don’t believe that,” she spits out.
“Believe what you will, Raven. But it’s done.”
“Hey,” she says then, and he feels her grab hold of his arm and tug. He tenses and refuses to budge. “Hey, Murphy! Look at me!”
He breathes out through his nose. It’s heavy. It’s painful. He wonders if it’s not broken. The blood’s stopped dripping, but the swelling has only worsened.
He turns towards her then, dropping the duffel he’s carrying on his shoulder to the ground. He watches silently as her eyes widen, and some of the anger ebbs away as she takes in his injuries. Concern flickers in her roving gaze and those knots tighten just a fraction more.
“Bellamy got you good, didn’t he?” It’s not a question. It doesn’t need to be. “You didn’t even try to block him,” she adds softly, and that? That, he knows, is a question. Because what she’s really asking is: why?
She reaches up, and he watches the trajectory of her hand warily. Watches as she lays a hand on his cheek, feels the pads of her fingers lingering there on the edges of his bruising cheek, feather-light, and it’s almost enough to break his resolve.
Almost.
He grabs hold of her wrist and yanks it away from his face. Holds it there and doesn’t let go.
Raven’s gaze hardens then, the anger surging but still restrained. “What the hell does McCreary have on us, huh?”
Us.
She still thinks this is about them. As if there’s some ulterior motive to his betrayal, and well. He can’t have that now, can he?
“For a genius, you can be pretty damn stupid, Reyes. I sold out Clarke’s little plan to save my own ass. There’s really nothing more to it. Sorry to disappoint. Again.”
He hates the way she looks at him then.
Her eyes hold his and he can’t break her searching gaze no matter how much he wants to.
It’s disbelief that shines there.
Not disbelief that he’d do such a thing, but a lack of belief in his words. As if she knows he’s lying through his teeth the best he can. It’s the type of performance that would have won him accolades in another life.
“Nice try. You might have the rest of them fooled, but I know you John Murphy, and you’re lying.” She pitches forward just a little bit as she breathes out the words. They’re blistering hot on his skin, and he remembers his fingers are still curled around her bare wrist. He lets go and takes a step back.
It’s a derisive, scornful scoff that leaves his lips. “You’re telling me that you know me better than myself huh? Better than Emori? Even she believes it, so why don’t you?”
“Because I think we’re better at lying to the one’s we love. It was her, wasn’t it?” she says, and she’s got that glint in her eye again, the one that makes him want to turn away and run. “McCreary threatened Emori’s life, and so you spilled.”
He breathes out, a tremulous laugh, because she’s closer than she knows and yet miles away from the truth.
“Stop trying to make me out to be some bleeding-heart hero. This,” he says, with a clenched fist pounding at his chest, “this is who I am. It’s who I’ve always been. The self-serving dick, who only looks out for himself. You think I’m lying now? Wake up, Raven! The last six, seven years have been the lie!”
Murphy sees it. The flicker of doubt he needs to let grow and cage behind her chest wall. And so he pushes.
“What?” He steps back towards her, and he sees the tremor of hesitation, the itch she has to step away, and he tries not to let it hurt. “You think I actually care about any of you?”
He doesn’t realise then. Doesn’t realise it until Raven’s tilting her head to look up at him, and a sad smile plays on her lips, that he’s overplayed his hand. Because despite what he’s said, Raven Reyes does know him. She’s one of a very small number of people (that he can barely count on one hand) who actually does. He also knows Raven Reyes has never been one to back down from a fight. Especially not when she's right.
“Now I know you’re lying. You almost had me.”
He changes tack.
“Why did you follow me out here, Raven? Not sure your boyfriend’s gonna be all too happy about it.”
“He’s not my boyfriend.”
Funny, he thinks, how he doesn’t even need naming.
“Oh please, that man has hearts in his eyes every time you so much as breathe! And you’re not any better.”
She tilts her head to the side, a thoughtful, assessing expression flitting across her face then, as her gaze drops to his lips.
He swallows.
“You’re jealous.”
The words hang there in what’s left of the air between them. And damn it, but he’s too slow to refute it, and the damage is done.
“You are,” she says, as her eyes trail back up his face, and it’s something like confusion and wonder that bursts from her. “You’re jealous.”
He shakes his head and tries to laugh it off. “Not everyone buys into your hype, Reyes. I’m not in lo-” He looks away. “I’m not jealous.”
His heart thrums in his chest at what he almost gave away, but something tells him he’s screwed anyway.
“It wasn’t Emori, McCreary had his gun trained on, was it?”
His mouth is dry, fingers clenched into his sides as the quietly spoken question hums between them.
This time, he chooses not to answer. Because he’s damned if he does. He’s damned if he doesn’t.
In the end, he’s just damned.
Has been since the day he caught the flu, and his father paid the price for it.
“Believe what you want, Raven. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
She shakes her head. “Murphy -”
But he’s not listening. He bends at the waist to pick up his bag - half-filled with his meagre possessions and rations - and hefts it back onto his shoulder.
Her gaze flickers to the bag, and it’s only then that he realises it hadn’t registered before with her. Just what he’s doing.
“Where are you going?”
He doesn’t answer.
“Look, if you just explain to Bellamy, Clarke, they’ll understand. You don’t have to-”
“Yeah. Yeah I do.”
“Murphy -” she says again, and there’s a crack in her voice that carves his flesh in that same jagged line.
And then he does it, before his old friend cowardice digs its claws in. He steps once more towards her, curves his hand around her neck and pulls her in towards him in a rare hug. She comes willingly, her face pressing against his chest and arms coming up around his waist to hold him back.
He’s been here before too.
He presses his lips into her hairline and murmurs into her skin. “Have a nice life, Reyes.”
He lets go then. Lets his eyes take her and his home in once more, before walking away.
And this time, he doesn’t look back.
End.